


I'll Be Home for Christmas (If Only In My Dreams)

by TeamHPForever



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottoming from the Top, Canon Compliant, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pre-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamHPForever/pseuds/TeamHPForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur asks Eames to pretend to be his boyfriend when he goes home for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home for Christmas (If Only In My Dreams)

“Arthur, dear.” Arthur regrets picking up the phone the moment his mother’s voice blasts through the speaker. “When should we expect you for Christmas?”

Arthur runs his fingers down the wine rack and rejects the whole thing. Cobb is running a local job and he needs to stay sober if he's going to be on call. “Wednesday, about noon.”

She scoffs, just like the last four or five times he’s told her. “Surely you could come sooner. What’s the point of being self-employed if you can’t give yourself time off?”

Arthur moves away from the alcohol and leans against the counter, looking out at his empty living room. There’s a Christmas tree in the corner, only half assembled. “I still have work to do. I have clients with expectations, Mom.”

“They must understand that it’s Christmas.” There’s a muffled sound, a sharp clatter, and then it’s his father’s voice coming across the phone line. “Your mom is just looking forward to seeing you, Arthur. Still on for Wednesday?”

“I’ll be there, Dad.”

“I have another question,” his mother says, the sound far away, and then louder, “will you be bringing anyone home this year?”

Arthur’s never brought any of his boyfriends home, not even before he started invading other people’s dreams. It’s up for debate whether he’s just never been that serious about anyone or he was afraid they wouldn’t be anymore after prolonged contact with his family.

“…I’m worried about you, Arthur,” his mother is saying. “Thirty years old and you don’t have anyone. You know Mrs. Hartwin’s son is home for the holidays. He’s a resident in medical school and quite handsome. I’ve already invited him to dinner on Wednesday. There’s also Jason, he works at the library…”

“Mom.” Arthur’s heart pounds in his throat at the idea of being passed around in his mother’s version of speed dating. “I’m not coming home to find a boyfriend.”

“Of course not, dear, but that doesn’t mean you won’t.” She’s off again, describing more eligible young men but Arthur isn’t listening.

The front door opens with a creak and he shifts over to see Eames walk in without knocking. He nods at the sight of Arthur on the phone and settles down on the couch.

“What about Henry?” a second female voice, his sister May, sounds distantly in the background.

“No, no.” His mother’s voice gets quieter, like she’s turned away from the phone. “He’s engaged. Getting married on some island of all places.”

“Mom,” Arthur says but it only serves to draw her attention back to him.

“You must remember Jesse from school. Charming boy, it’s a pity his father is being investigated for fraud.”

Arthur shakes his head, looking out at Eames. A wonderful, horrible, _absolutely not happening_ idea pops into his head.

“Actually,” he interrupts her, “I’m seeing someone. We haven’t been together long…”

His mother is actually silent for a few moments. “Oh Arthur! Wait until I tell everyone!”

“Wait,” Arthur says, his blood running cold. “I don’t know if he’s…”

“I just can’t wait to meet him!” His mother plows right over his protests and is already hanging up the phone before he can get a word in edgewise.

Eames watches him intently from the couch, not even bothering to pretend that he wasn’t listening. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not.” Arthur glances at the liquor cabinet, wishing he had time for a scotch, but if Eames is here he definitely needs to be sober.

“I think your parents might notice if you show up alone.”

Arthur runs a hand roughly through his hair. Eames continues to stare at him, blue eyes bright, his expression easy and open.

“Come home with me.” The words slip out before he can think twice about them. He bites his tongue to keep from cursing.

Eames squints at him, getting slowly up from the couch. “Why?”

“You just said that I’m not seeing anyone.” Arthur waves a hand at him. “You’re a forger, surely you can manage a minor role as my boyfriend.”

Eames looks away, tugging a poker chip from his pocket and rubbing it between his fingers. Arthur fights off the memory of Buenos Aires, when he’d dared to hope for that very real possibility. “What if I have plans?”

Arthur has known Eames long enough to realize that, if he has any family, he doesn’t spend holidays with them. “Do you?”

“No.” Eames tucks the poker chip away.

“Come with me.” Arthur tries to smile through his thoughts of what a bad idea this is. “If nothing else, you get free food and embarrassing stories about me as a child.”

A smirk pulls at the corners of Eames’s mouth. “Embarrassing stories?”

“I’m sure there’s at least one.”

The smirk widens into a grin. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Arthur sighs with relief. He’s sure to hate himself for this later but at least for now his mother won’t be playing matchmaker. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Your boyfriend can’t stop by to see you on a Saturday night?” Eames stalks across the floor, full of intent.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Eames.”

“Cobb wants you down at the office.” Eames stops, far too close for their working relationship. “He put the finishing touches on the first level this morning and he wants you to take a look.”

Arthur nods turning away to the closet to grab his coat. “Let’s go.”

***

“So what exactly does this Christmas with your family involve?” Eames asks.

The two of them are alone in the office—really a couple of junkyard desks in a building that’s been “Available for Rent” for months. Arthur’s double- and triple-checking his notes, Eames reading through every bit of back story on his forgery that they could dredge up. They’ll be making their move on the mark in the morning.

“We’ll drive down on Wednesday.” Arthur pushes the files aside and tips back in his chair. “Back on Saturday. Just the immediate family.”

“I meant,” Eames says slowly, “what are the boundaries of our fake relationship?”

“No PDA,” Arthur replies quickly the memory of Eames’s lips on his making his skin hot. “We might have to share a bed, but it’s not like we haven’t done that before. We haven’t been together long. Met at work.”

“Met at work? Dull.”

Arthur sighs, turning his attention back to his notes. “It’s easier to stick with the truth. This isn’t one of your forgeries. It doesn’t have to be elaborate.”

“Fine.” Eames is playing with his poker chip again. “The truth it is.”

***

The job goes off without a hitch. Arthur is thankful that he won’t have to explain to his family how exactly he came to get the hell beaten out of him by an angry employer.

He and Eames hit the road bright and early Wednesday morning. Eames complains for five minutes about the hour before promptly falling asleep in the passenger seat. Arthur flips through the radio stations until he finds some acceptable Christmas music and adjusts the volume to play softly in the background.

The miles wind away as they move south down the coast, thick blankets of snow disappearing in favor of shabby grass. Eames wakes up as Arthur climbs back into the car at a gas station.

“Where are we?” There’s a crease in Eames’s face where it’s been pressed against the door.

Arthur hands him a styrofoam cup of coffee. “Just outside of Richmond. A bit longer to go yet.”

“Bless you.” Eames practically inhales the coffee. “Where are we going again?”

“Virginia Beach.” Arthur pulls back onto he road, heading for the highway. He brings down the visor as the sun shines in his eyes.

“Aren’t you going to quiz me on all the members of your family?” Eames squints at his reflection in the mirror, combing down his hair with his fingers.

Arthur accelerates hard, slipping into an open space between cars. “Why?”

“So that I’m prepared. Isn’t that how this goes?” Eames grins at him, flipping his own visor back up.

“You’ve been watching too many movies.”

“I wanted to do my research.”

Arthur lets out a stream of cursing as someone cuts into the lane ahead of him. “This is the first time you’re going to meet them and I know you’re good with names. I’m pretty sure in a couple weeks of dating, I haven’t shown you my family tree.”

“A couple weeks, huh?” Eames looks thoughtful. “Would you say we’re still in the phase where we can’t keep our hands off each other?”

Arthur slaps away the hand resting on the top of his thigh. “For fuck’s sake, I’m driving.”

Eames puts his hands back in his lap and looks out the window. “Old married couple, then. Okay.”

Arthur resists the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel.

“So if we met at work, what exactly does your family think you do?” Eames asks, his voice more serious this time. “I’m guessing they don’t know you have a lovely career as a pointman in dream espionage.”

“No.” Arhtur grimaces, looking out the window for a moment. “They think I’m a business consultant, helping foreign companies to break into the American market.”

Eames nods. “What does that make me?”

“Whatever you want to be, I suppose.” Arthur keeps his eyes on the cars in front of them.

Eames raises an eyebrow, humming in thought. “A casino owner.”

“Secret dream of yours?”

Eames chuckles, flipping his poker chip between his fingers. “Maybe in another life.”

“Casino owner it is.”

***

Less than two hours later, Arthur’s pulling into the driveway of his old home. It’s two stories, brown brick, and set with large windows. Strings of lights hang from the roof, turned off in the broad daylight. His mother stands on the covered porch, already waving at the two of them.

Arthur catches Eames’s eye. If he’s surprised by the size of his home, he doesn’t let on. “Are you sure about this?” Arthur asks. “I can tell them it was just a misunderstanding. That you’re a coworker who didn’t have any plans…”

Eames rests his hand lightly on top of Arthur’s. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Arthur swallows hard and pushes open his door. His mother jogs across the lawn in her slippers and wraps him in a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, pulling away as her eyes land on Eames. “And who is this?”

“Mom, this is Eames.”

She hurries around to the other side of the car. Before she can draw Eames into a hug, he catches her hand and lifts it to his lips. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs…” He falls to a stop.

Arthur realizes with a blast of dread that he’s supposed to be dating this man and they’ve never actually swapped last names. He’s torn between whether it would be suspicious to shout over to him or just smack his head against the top of the car.

He’s saved from either when his mother blushes and says, “Please, call me Elaine.”

Arthur rushes over to pop the trunk and grab their bags. Eames extricates himself from Elaine’s hold and joins him, whispering out of the corner of his mouth, “What is your last name?”

Arthur hesitates. He’s known Eames for years, considers the two of them good friends even if they struggle to get along, but in their line of work names were delicate things. “Holden.”

“Arthur Holden,” Eames says like he’s feeling the syllables on his tongue. He pulls his own suitcase from the trunk and shuts it. “It’s nice to meet you. Eames Smythers.”

“Smythers?”

Eames wrinkles his nose. “Shut up.” He twines their fingers together as they step away from the car and towards the front door. Elaine hovers on the porch, holding the door open. Eames’s eyes widen and their hands slip apart as the two of them step inside.

The entryway is spacious, leading into the living room on their right and up a staircase to their left. A pair of miniature Christmas trees sit in the corners flanking the door. Arthur sets his suitcase down and kicks off his shoes. Eames follows suit, still taking everything in. Footsteps thunder down the stairs as Arthur’s father appears.

“How was the drive?” he asks, wrapping Arthur in a hug.

“Wasn’t terrible.” He pulls of his father’s grip. “This is Eames.”

“Good to meet you. Call me Miles.” He smiles, reaching out to shake. Eames must meet his approval because he nods to himself. “Why don’t the two of you go upstairs and get settled in?”

“Lunch will be ready shortly,” Elaine says, rushing off toward the kitchen.

“You’ll both be staying in your room, Arthur,” Miles goes on. “May and her fiance are staying in her room.”

Eames twitches at the reminder that they’ll be sharing a room—and probably a bed—but Arthur just nods. He’d braced himself for as much. “What about Brian and Garrett?”

“Eli is sick so Brian’ll just be coming for Christmas dinner. Garrett only has Tara on Christmas Eve. He hasn’t decided if he wants to stay at all.”

Arthur starts to make his way up the stairs. He’s barely made it to the top when a door opens. “Arthur!” His sister bounds down the hallway and almost knocks him back down the stairs with a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Arthur tugs himself out of her embrace and steps carefully up onto the landing out of harm’s way. “How are you? Where is this fiance of yours?”

“He had a work thing. Catching a later flight.” She sighs, her gaze fixating on Eames still standing two steps down. “And who is this?”

“May, this is Eames. Eames, my sister May.” Eames reaches out to try to pull off the hand kiss once more but he’s not quick enough. May throws her arms around him.

“Arthur, you didn’t tell me you were bringing anyone home!” May pulls away from Eames, her cheeks rosy. “He’s very handsome,” she whispers, although not quietly enough if Eames’s sudden grin is anything to go by.

“All right.” Arthur inches toward his old bedroom door. “We were just going to get settled in.”

May moves over to give Eames room to come up the rest of the stairs. “Okay. Don’t get distracted. You know how serious Mom is about family meals.”

Arthur ignores her and pushes through the door. His bedroom has long since been turned into a second guest room but he still thinks of it as his. There’s the teal blue paint, pristine white carpet, gray diamond-pattern bedspread, matching antique side table and wardrobe.

“Forgive me,” Eames says, already poking through the wardrobe even though it’s empty, “but the paint seems brighter than I expected.”

Arthur shrugs. He’d tried to convince his parents to paint over it but his mother wouldn’t hear of it. “It was my favorite color when I was nine. You can put your stuff away if you want.”

Eames leans his suitcase against the wardrobe. “I’d rather not.”

Arthur nods. Unpacking was a luxury they could rarely afford. Not when a job could go south at any moment. He tells himself that they’re safe here and goes through the motions of tucking his clothes away in the wardrobe and stashing his toiletries in the bathroom.

“So tell me about your family,” Eames says, settling down on top of the bed.

“You already met my parents and sister,” Arthur reminds him, picking out fresh clothes. “You’ll meet the rest of them soon.”

“Arthur.” Eames’s voice is soft but strangely serious. “It’s my job to gather information.”

Arthur lets out a sigh. He hadn’t thought about how sending Eames in blind would be going against his nature. “Mom was an English professor until she retired a few years ago. Now she spends most of her time gardening and trying to marry me off.”

Eames chuckles. “And your dad?”

“He’s a Navy man, although mostly retired these days. I'll tell you about the others in a minute.” Arthur takes his clothes into the bathroom. Left alone with his thoughts, his head spins with images of Eames—kissing his mother’s hand, meeting his dad, hugging his sister, sitting on his old bed. This was a terrible idea.

Arthur strips out of his more comfortable clothes and into jeans, a light gray button-up, and a darker vest. He combs his hair into submission, taking longer than really necessary, and then steps back into his room.

Eames is stretched out on his side, eyes closed. His hair has slipped out of its usual gelled state and his bangs are hanging down over his eyes. Arthur freezes in the doorway, rocking on the balls of his feet. He’s seen Eames asleep before, many times, but never quite like this. Certainly not on his old bed.

“I can hear you thinking, darling,” Eames murmurs, his eyes slowly opening.

“May,” Arthur blurts out. “She’s engaged; I’ve never met the man. She’s a high school teacher. Math.”

Eames nods, mulling on that information. He sits up and pushes his bangs back into place. “Older or younger sister?”

“Younger.” Arthur tucks away his worn clothes. “I’m the oldest, hence my own room. Brian and Garrett are twins, three years younger than me. May is two years younger than them.”

Eames quietly counts that out on his fingers. “And their families?”

“Brian is married to Carol. He’s a stay-at-home dad, she’s the manager of a small chain of bookstores. They have two kids: Kate is four, Eli is three months, I think. Garrett is an insurance agent. He and his wife got divorced a couple years ago. His daughter, Tara, is seven.”

“Thank you for the lovely family tree.” Eames rolls off the bed and heads for the bathroom.

Arthur sits down on the end of his bed, eyes drawn to the family portrait on the back wall. He was five when it was taken, the twins two, May just home from the hospital. Back then he had no idea what his life would become.

Eames steps out of the bathroom and follows his gaze to the portrait. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” Arthur shakes his head as he gets to his feet. “We should get down to lunch.”

***

Lunch turns out to be a crisp Cesar salad with fresh baked bread. It’s a warm day—certainly warmer than anything they’d have in DC—so the five of them end up on the back patio.

His parents and May direct most of their questions to Eames, the man spinning lies about their life in DC like the gifted forger he is. Arthur finds himself relaxing as he helps himself to seconds.

It isn’t until May giggles and asks, “So how did you meet?” that Arthur tenses up again.

“Work,” Arthur blurts out.

“A couple years ago, I moved to DC looking to start up my own casino. Didn’t work out but Arthur was kind enough to give me some advice.” Eames offers him a fond smile. “It took a couple years for him to finally say yes to dinner.”

Elaine laughs. “What is it you do, if the casino didn’t work out?”

“Paralegal.”

Arthur tries not to choke on his drink, picturing Eames behind a desk working for high-powered lawyers. The mental image comes a little too easily and it takes him a minute to remember that Eames had forged a paralegal, on their first job together.

As lunch winds down, Arthur fights to smother a yawn. He’s used to running on little or no real sleep but out here in the relative solitude, without the kick of adrenaline and caffeine, the tendency seems to be catching up with him.

“Arthur, why don’t you take a nap?” his mother asks. “We’ll wake you in time to get ready for the dinner party.”

“All right.” Arthur gets to his feet and looks at Eames. He’s always been good with strangers, it’s his job, but he doesn’t want to abandon him.

“Don’t worry.” Elaine waves him off. “We promise not to scare Eames away while you’re gone.”

“Go,” Eames says gently, looking up at him with sparkling blue eyes. It occurs to Arthur that he could lean down right now, press a kiss to those full lips. It would be a perfectly natural thing to do.

If they were really dating.

Arthur blinks hard, nodding, and turns to go inside the house.

***

Arthur wakes to a hand shaking his shoulder. He has to admit that it’s nice not to be jolted by a drop into a cold bath or a shot to the head. Eames looms over him, pulling away once he sees Arthur’s awake.

“Your mom told me to tell you that we’ve got about an hour until people start arriving.”

“Okay.” Arthur drags himself from the bed and towards the bathroom. When he comes back, Eames is still sitting on the end of the bed. “What happened to being a big-shot casino owner?”

“Didn’t seem right,” Eames replies easily. “Besides, how could we be together in DC if I had to run a casino elsewhere?”

“Paralegal seems like a big jump in two years.”

Eames strips out of the brown button-up he’s wearing and into a dark green one. He tops it with a black jacket. “That’s what I was when we met.”

“You did remember that.” Arthur stares down at his clothes like he’s trying to decide if he needs to change. His heart feels like it’s doing somersaults in his chest.

“I remember all of my forgeries.” Eames laughs. “I also remember the glass of whiskey you threw in my face.”

Arthur grimaces. He can’t remember the insult that started it and he’s afraid to ask. “Sorry.”

“You’re not.” Eames’s tone is light. “Come on. Your mom also said something about giving her a hand in the kitchen.”

The cooking in progress looks to be enough to feed a small army. Elaine stands over the oven, repeatedly checking the chicken baking inside, while Miles peels potatoes. May mans the vegetable steamer, squinting suspiciously at the cauliflower and broccoli inside.

“What can I do?” Arthur asks, going to the sink to wash his hands.

May’s phone vibrates on the counter and she snatches it up eagerly. “You can keep an eye on the vegetables. I have to take this.” Without waiting for confirmation, she ducks out of the kitchen.

“Does anything else need to be done?” Eames asks, glancing around the kitchen.

“Oh no, dear,” Elaine says, snatching up the pot of peeled potatoes and moving over to the sink. “You’re a guest.”

“It’s no problem,” Eames says. “I wouldn’t want to sit by while everyone else does the work.”

She smiles, looking delighted. “There’s some plastic baggies of vegetables in the fridge. Plate is right up there on the bar, if you could arrange them.”

“Of course.” Eames winks at Arthur and opens the fridge. He has a feeling that once this weekend is over, he may never be able to bring anyone home again.

***

It’s only when Arthur is standing in a room full of people—most of which he doesn’t recognize—that he remembers the other reason he rarely comes home.

“Arthur!” An elderly woman in a loose blue dress clings to his arm. “Oh my, how much you’ve grown. I haven’t seen you since you were this big.” She holds her hand down to her knee.

Arthur glances desperately around the room but Eames is nowhere to be seen. A moment later he spots May coming through the door. She waves to him.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, trying to sound like he really means it. “My sister is calling me.”

“Sure, dear.” She lets go of his arm and Arthur bolts across the room. Standing next to May is a man who must be her fiance. He’s tall and olive-skinned, with dark eyes that don’t seem to be noticing anything but his sister at the moment.

“Arthur!” May glows as she turns toward him. “This is my fiance, Tetlapanquetzatzin.”

Arthur stares at her, wondering if perhaps that was his entire name crushed into one mash of letters. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m kidding.” May laughs and leans her forehead against the man’s shoulder. “It’s actually Khakeperraseneb.”

Arthur wants to tell her stop joking around but the guy is wearing a completely straight face and he’s met enough strange characters to know it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. “One more time. Slower.”

“She’s fucking with you,” the man says, his face finally breaking into a grin. “It’s Josh.”

“You’re terrible,” Arthur tells his sister, knocking her shoulder with his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Josh. I’m her brother, Arthur.”

“Good to meet you too.”

Arthur has time to note that his accent is faintly Greek before they’re shaking hands and May is saying, “My parents are just over there.”

Arthur sighs as he watches her walk away before jumping back into the fray.

“Your family really goes all out, don’t they?” a male voice says over Arthur’s shoulder. He glances back taking in a guy’s black hair and rich suit. Another family friend he doesn’t recognize.

“Yes they do.” Arthur turns away from where he’s been snacking on the vegetable plate.

“I’m Mark.” He holds out his hand, a haughty expression on his face. “Your mother invited me over to dinner to meet you.”

Arthur struggles to remember the men his mother had mentioned. This must be Mrs. Hartwin’s son, the future doctor. “I’m Arthur.” He shakes, Mark’s fingers lingering in his for several moments too long. “I don’t know what my mother told you about me but I’m seeing someone.”

“That’s okay.” Mark moves closer, resting a hand against the edge of the counter. “He doesn’t have to know, right?”

Arthur doesn’t even bother to hide his cringe. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on.” Mark’s hand slips from the counter to his waist, fingers notching through his belt loop. He leans in closer to whisper, “It’ll be fun. Does he let you fuck him? I would.”

“Fuck off,” Arthur hisses into his ear.

“There you are, darling.” Eames appears out of the crowd, hand slipping around Arthur’s waist. “Who’s this?”

Mark yanks his hand away like he’s been burned, taking a step back. “This him?”

This is my boyfriend Eames.” Arthur leans into Eames’s shoulder. “Eames, this is Mark. He’s just leaving.”

“Right.” Mark stumbles back another step. “Tell your mother I said hi, Arthur.” He disappears into the crowd, weaving his way to the front door as quickly as he can.

“So who’s Mark?” Eames asks, withdrawing his hand slowly. Arthur’s back feels cold with the loss of contact.

“Son of a family friend.” Arthur sighs, leaning back against the counter. His body longs to find a bed, to just go to sleep and stop thinking for a while. “My mom wanted to set us up before she found out about you.”

“You looked upset.” The cold look is slipping from Eames’s eyes to be replaced with something like understanding.

Arthur glances around at the people surrounding them, pushing in to make a grab for the vegetable plate. He grabs Eames by the wrist, leading him into the empty kitchen. “He wanted me to fuck him.”

“You could, you know.” Eames leans back against the island counter, an eyebrow raised.

Arthur cringes again. If nothing else, at least bringing Eames here for Christmas had shown him that Mark was a jackass. “I’m not a cheater.”

“We’re not together.” Eames whispers it, like he’s afraid someone will hear even though they’re alone and there’s no way anyone could eavesdrop over the cacophony of voices coming from the rest of the house.

_I know_ rises in Arthur’s throat but he can’t force the words through his mouth. Instead, he pours himself a glass of water from the sink and asks, “Did you meet my sister’s fiance?”

“I did.” Eames offers him a look of utter confusion but Arthur gets the feeling it’s not from the change in subject.

“What’d she tell you his name is?”

“Nebuchadnezzer.”

“That’s a good one.” Arthur can’t help but smile. “We should use that someday.”

Eames shakes his head, a grin already rising on his face. “Absolutely not.”

“I should probably get back to the party.” Arthur looks out at the people milling around the living room and winces. Still, these are his family’s friends and the least he can do is make nice with them for a few hours. “Will you come?”

Eames reaches out his hand, wiggling his fingers until Arthur takes it. “Into battle, darling.”

***

It’s hours later by the time the last guest is gone and Arthur is able to collapse to the couch with a relieved sigh. Eames glances at him from where he’s picking paper plates up from the coffee table.

“Get up, brother,” May says, dragging him from the couch by his hands. “There is work to be done.”

“It wasn’t my idea to throw a party and invite the whole neighborhood,” Arthur grumbles but he starts filling his arms with glasses.

It doesn’t take long for them to get everything cleaned up, not with everyone helping. When they’re done, Elaine appears with five mugs of hot chocolate.

“Thanks, Mom,” Arthur says, accepting his mug with just a touch of whipped cream as he settles deeper into the couch.

Eames drops onto the seat next to him, almost upsetting Arthur’s mug, and accepts his own.

“I didn’t know how you liked yours, Eames,” Elaine says, “so I made a guess. Mint marshmallows and a dollop of whipped cream.”

Eames’s eyes flash with a strange expression as he takes a sip. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

She smiles and goes to hand out the last couple. For a while, they just sip hot chocolate and enjoy the silence after so much noise.

“There aren’t any more parties planned, are there?” May asks from where she’s settled into Josh’s lap in the armchair.

“No,” Miles answers. “Just us for tomorrow and Christmas Day.”

“Good.” She smiles, leaning her head back onto Josh’s shoulder. Eames gets up to take his mug into the kitchen. When he returns, he settles down with an arm around Arthur’s shoulders.

The warmth of his skin is a constant buzz in the back of Arthur’s mind. Instinct tells him to move away but he doesn’t, he can’t. If this were real, he wouldn’t cringe away from his boyfriend’s touch, he’d lean into it.

Arthur’s muscles tense with indecision until Eames’s thumb starts to draw soothing circles on his shoulder and he forces himself to relax. He sets his empty mug aside on the coffee table and lets his head slip down onto Eames’s shoulder.

His mother goes to bed first, taking his father with him. May ends up falling asleep. Josh says good night for the both of them and carries her upstairs.

Arthur settles into the quiet and dark of the living room like a warm bath. The Christmas tree provides most of the light, casting everything in a multi-colored glow. He knows that he should go to bed but he can’t bring himself to stand up. Wrapped in Eames’s embrace he feels comfortable, secure. He could fall asleep right here more easily than with a PASIV in his vein.

“We should go to bed,” Arthur whispers.

Eames lifts his head and opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Instead, he gets up and heads for the stairs without glancing back. Arthur sits for a moment, the cold rushing against his skin, and follows.

They change for bed in silence. Arthur tries not to stare at the hard lines of Eames’s muscles or the black ink of his tattoos. It’s hard, the man is only wearing a pair of loose gray sweatpants. Eames climbs into the left side of the bed, as usual, and Arthur flicks off the light.

The silence seems like a lead weight filling up the darkness. Arthur settles down beneath the covers, starting at the patch of moonlight coming through his window. “Thank you, Eames,” he murmurs. “When I asked you to do this, you could have told me to fuck off.”

Eames doesn’t answer. Arthur sighs and pretends to believe that he’s already asleep.

***

Arthur wakes first, showers quickly, and heads downstairs before Eames can wake up. The smells of coffee and bacon fill the first story. “Breakfast will just be a minute,” his father says from where he’s manning the stove.

“This is the only breakfast I need,” Arthur replies, making a beeline for the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. He stirs in just enough creamer to make it bearable.

Miles scoffs. “That isn’t healthy. You’ll eat.”

Arthur does, a few pieces of bacon and a small stack of toast. Eames stumbles down the stairs while he’s halfway through, looking like he’s following his nose to the kitchen rather than his eyes.

“Is there coffee?” Eames asks, prying his eyes open just long enough not to run into the table.

“I’ll get it.” Arthur pours him a cup and puts it on the table. “Your two o’clock.”

“Thanks.” Eames takes a few sips and his eyes open. Miles watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry. I’m not much of a morning person.”

“Me neither,” May says behind them all as he walks through. She’s still wearing her pajamas and her hair sticks up in the back. “Tell me Arthur didn’t eat all the bacon.”

“No, there’s plenty.” Miles flips the paper towel covering it off. Eames and May help themselves. Arthur polishes off the rest of his food and settles in to savor the coffee.

When breakfast is done, Arthur sticks around to take care of the dishes while everyone else goes upstairs to get ready properly. Eames comes back down looking freshly showered and much more awake.

“What are the plans for today?” Eames asks, sitting carefully down on the couch so he’s next to Arthur but not touching him. “Do you have any wacky family traditions I should know about?”

“I told you not watch those Christmas movies,” Arthur says with a shake of his head. “No, we don’t have a lot of family traditions. Christmas Eve we used to pile in my mom’s van and drive around to look at the Christmas lights. I don’t know if we’ll do that this year.”

“You can bet your ass we will,” May says, splaying herself across an armchair. “Oh hey, there’s eight seats and there’ll be eight of us. No one will have to sit on a lap this year.”

Eames moves closer, resting his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. “How disappointing.”

“It’s not as fun as it sounds,” Arthur says, turning his head before Eames moves. Their faces are so close he can feel Eames’s breath. It wouldn’t take much movement at all for him to close that gap, press their lips together. He wants to. So badly. May is across the room, watching them. He could always brush it off as doing it for her benefit.

“Arthur,” his mother calls from the kitchen. Eames jerks back and looks away. “Garrett and Tara are here. Can you go help him with their things?”

“Yeah.” Arthur tries not to sigh in relief at the distraction. “Of course.” He bolts up from the couch and spends several seconds trying to put his shoes on the wrong feet.

Garrett is hauling an overnight duffel and a paper bag full of presents out of his Impala when Arthur arrives. His brother looks older than his twenty-seven years, lines carved into his forehead and gray hairs threaded through his usual brown. His daughter is tall for her age, her mother’s blond hair hanging straight down to her shoulders. She laughs as the two of them struggle to maneuver the paper bag out of the trunk.

“Here, let me get that,” Arthur says. They move out of the way to let him pull the paper bag into his hands.

“Uncle Arthur!” Tara squeals and then her arms are wrapped around his legs.

“Hey, sweetie.” Arthur shifts the bag to free up a hand to ruffle her hair. “How’s school going?”

“Great!” She grins up at him, her smile missing a pair of teeth. “I got all A’s!”

“You better watch out, Garrett,” Arthur says as she lets go of him and they’re able to move towards the house. “She’s going to end up being smarter than you.”

“Don’t I know it.” Garrett bumps his duffel against Arthur’s hip. “It’s good to see you. I wondered if this would be the year you’d miss Christmas too.”

Arthur’s smile slips from his face. “Not if I can help it.”

Tara holds the door open for them. They’ve scarcely stepped over the threshold before their mother appears to smother them with hugs. Arthur slips past the greetings and spreads the presents out beneath the tree. Eames kneels down next to him to help. “Is something wrong?” he murmurs.

Arthur shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay.” Eames braces his hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he stands up. “Do I get to meet this brother of yours?”

Arthur folds up the paper bag. “Come on.”

Garrett still hasn’t escaped the grip of his mother in the foyer. “Garrett,” Arthur says and his brother looks strangely relieved as he looks up, “there’s someone I want you to meet. Eames, this is my brother Garrett and my niece Tara. Garrett, my boyfriend Eames.”

Garrett raises an eyebrow as he reaches out his hand. “It’s good to meet you. Forgive me, but you’re not what I was expecting.”

“Oh?” Eames smiles, a wicked gleam in his eye. “What were you expecting?”

Garrett shrugs as Eames shakes hands with his daughter. Tara’s eyes are wide and there’s a slight blush on her cheeks. “Someone more, I don’t know, scholarly.”

“Between you and me, I was rubbish in school.” Eames winks over his shoulder. “I think he keeps me around for my—”

“Why don’t you go upstairs and put your stuff down?” Arthur heads him off quickly, glancing down at the seven-year-old standing at their feet.

“I was going to say wit.” Eames grins.

“I’m sure that’s it.” Garrett picks up his duffel and starts up the stairs. “Tara, are you coming?”

“I think I’ll stay here, Dad.” Tara is still staring up at Eames. “Were you really bad in school? I have straight A’s.”

“Really?” Eames turns to head back to the living room. “That’s fantastic. What grade are you in?”

“Third.”

Eames casts Arthur a curious expression. He’s saved from having to explain the hierarchy of American education by his father’s shout of “Is that my granddaughter I hear?”

Arthur and Eames retreat back into the living room. Arthur flops down on the couch, covering his eyes with a hand. “Is this the plan for the day?” Eames murmurs, sitting directly next to him.

Arthur opens his eyes again. Eames is fidgeting, playing with his poker chip but not rubbing it. This is obviously reality; he would never dream up something so uneventful.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says. “Christmas Eve is usually a time to just chill. We could go for a drive if you want.”

“Anything.” Eames is already getting to his feet.

Arthur tells his mother where they’re headed and a minute later the two of them are alone in the car again. Eames flips through the radio while Arthur pulls out of the driveway.

The streets are packed with cars, all of them trying to reach family or friends or parties or malls for last minute shopping.

“Shit,” Eames hisses as they pass yet another mall, “I didn’t get your family or you anything for Christmas.”

Arthur holds up a hand to stop him. “That’s okay. I got my family presents from both of us and I don’t expect you to get me anything. Don’t worry about it.”

“That doesn’t make me a very good boyfriend.”

“I’ll say we exchanged gifts at home. I told you not to get me anything. It’s not a trick, Eames.” Arthur breathes a sigh of relief as they move farther out of the thick of town and towards the beach.

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart,” Eames says, staring out the window at the passing city and no doubt cataloging every detail. “Your family isn’t fond of the mistletoe tradition, are they?”

“For the last time,” Arthur snaps, turning off onto a long beach-side parking lot, “this is not a fucking movie.”

Eames chuckles. “I know, I was just thinking of the Helvig job.”

“Oh.” Arthur deflates, focusing far too much attention on parking perfectly straight. “That architect was obsessed with mistletoe. Above every damn door.”

“You never did give me that kiss,” Eames says and Arthur makes the mistake of looking over at him. The man’s eyes are open and earnest, lips parted slightly.

“To be fair, we both got shot by projections.” Arthur swallows hard and pushes his way out of the car. Eames waits a moment before following. “And, to answer your question, my family isn’t really the mistletoe type.”

“Good to know.” The two of them step quietly across the parking lot and onto the sand. It’s a cold day, a wind ripping across the surface of the ocean and blasting them in the face. The water looks slate gray and tosses with waves. The beach is almost empty, only a few brave runners and a man with a metal detector.

“Did you come here often?” Eames asks as they start along the edge of the surf. He takes off his shoes and, if the cold bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

“Sometimes.” Arthur snatches up a handful of sand, watching it trickle from his fingers to be cast away by the wind. “More when my dad was away. Mom used to bring us all out here, point out at the horizon, and say that our dad was out there watching over us.”

Eames smiles, bending over to roll up his pant legs. “Did it help?”

“When I was very young.” Arthur clenches his jaw, the confession feeling strange on his tongue. “I pretended it was comforting for longer, for everyone else's sake.”

A particularly large wave kicks up onto the shore, soaking the cuffs of Eames’s jeans. He makes a high sound of disgust and jumps out of the way but the damage is already done. Arthur doesn’t bother to hide his laughter.

“I got a call from Cobb,” Eames says and Arthur latches eagerly onto the change in subject. “Before we left to come here. He has a lead on a job in Berlin.”

“Did you tell him no more jobs until after the New Year?” Arthur waits for the brewing anticipation for a new mark but it doesn’t come. Out here, with the sand and surf and his family, walking through other people’s dreams seems a galaxy away.

“I told him we’d both be off the grid for a while.” Eames shrugs and steps deeper into the water. “Suggested he take advantage of some time off. You think he’s ever going to tie the knot with Mal?”

Arthur laughs. “Maybe in his dreams.”

***

“Did you have a good time?” Elaine asks when the two of them step back inside. Eames moves awkwardly, his jeans still soaked up to the knee. “Oh dear, what happened here?”

“Not enough care with the waves, I’m afraid,” Eames says, heading directly for the stairs.

Arthur watches him go before turning to his mother. “I'm sorry we were going so long. Traffic was a nightmare.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, dear. Don’t worry, May and Josh are still out and dinner isn’t for hours.”

Arthur follows the sounds of laughter through into the living room, finding Garrett and Tara deeply immersed in _A Year Without a Santa Claus_. Arthur flops down on the armchair and pulls a blanket over his lap.

It doesn’t take long for Eames to return. He glances at an empty seat on the couch and settles down on the floor in front of Arthur instead.

When the movie ends, Eames catches Arthur’s eye and taps his shoulder with a finger. Arthur resists the urge to roll his eyes as he leans forward and digs his thumbs into the tense muscles, fingers working out the knots.

Eames closes his eyes and leans back into the touch. Arthur supposes a massage is a small price to pay for dragging the man all the way out here and putting on this charade. _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ comes on and Tara grins with delight.

Arthur’s hands are getting tired by the time he hears the front door open. May and Josh whirl into the room, brushing raindrops from their jackets.

“Arthur,” his mother calls from the kitchen, “could you give me a hand?”

“I’ll be back,” Arthur murmurs to Eames, running a rough hand through his hair. He climbs to his feet and heads to the kitchen without looking back.

Between digging out a pan for the turkey breast and making sure May doesn’t eat all the Christmas cookies before they can even be frosted, it takes Arthur longer than expected. By the time he makes it back to the living room, Eames has disappeared.

Arthur settles back down on the armchair and waits. And waits. He goes to check upstairs to make sure Eames isn’t passed out somewhere but the second floor is empty.

“Do you know where Eames went?” he asks, popping his head around the corner of the living room and looking at Garrett.

“Yeah.” His brother looks up from where he’s braiding Tara’s hair. “I think he went to pick something up from the store. He should be back soon.”

Arthur frowns, unable to remember anyone saying they needed something, but he shrugs and sits back down in the living room.

Arthur hears the door open but he’s half-asleep and can’t be bothered to check it out. It’s several minutes before Eames sweeps back into the room.

“Hey,” Arthur says, his lips slipping into a sleepy smile. “Where were you?”

“Just had to pick something up.” Eames prods him in the shoulder until he moves over enough that they can both fit in the chair. It’s a bit tight. Arthur squirms until he ends up half in Eames’s lap. More comfortable but not quite what he’d been hoping for. “You didn’t think I’d run out on you, did you?”

“Of course not,” Arthur murmurs, although the thought had crossed his mind. It wouldn’t be the first time Eames picked up a bit of intrigue and disappeared.

Eames opens his mouth but Arthur’s saved by the arrival of his sister. She drops onto the couch and says, “Dinner will be ready in about an hour.”

“So May,” Eames says in a charming tone, “Arthur promised me a wealth of embarrassing childhood stories if I came home with him for Christmas. I must admit I’m disappointed so far.”

May grins, her eyes gleaming like Eames just handed her the best present. “Is that so?”

“Before you say anything,” Arthur interrupts, “be reminded that I am your older brother.”

“Please,” May says while Josh laughs behind her, “you don’t have anything on me. Let’s see, there’s the time you went to the tanning salon and only got sprayed in the front. The time you got stuck in an ATM vestibule with a Victoria’s Secret model. The time you got stung by a jellyfish and Rob had to—”

“Wait. None of that happened.” Arthur’s forehead scrunches down hard. “Those are all the plots to _Friends_ episodes.”

May leans back against her fiance’s shoulder. “I can’t really think of anything. I know, I’ll get the photo albums out.” She jumps up from the couch and darts off.

“What about the time Mom thought you died?” Garrett asks walking into the living room and dropping onto an open cushion on the couch. He grins with the delight of a younger brother about to take revenge.

Eames raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that sounds like a funny story.”

May reappears, carrying a stack of albums in her arms. She drops the load of them on the floor and grabs the top one before climbing back onto the couch. “It’s funnier in hindsight,” she promises.

“So Arthur used to have one of those trick bikes,” Garrett starts, “and he rode it everywhere.”

“I loved that thing,” Arthur interjects.

“The four of us were hanging out on the front lawn one afternoon—it was summer break—and Arthur was jumping around the driveway.”

“Oh, look,” May says, holding up the photo album. “Here’s baby Arthur in the bathtub.”

“Brian got the idea to set up a ramp,” Garrett continues. “I can’t remember what we used but it was okay, nice and sturdy, nothing he hadn’t tried before.”

“I’m guessing it didn’t stay okay?” Eames asks reaching to run his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“No, it did not,” Arthur says, pushing his face into his knees. “It was May’s idea to set up the second ramp and push her old kiddy pool between them.”

“So there’s us,” Garrett picks up the story, “with those two ramps on either side of a blue plastic kiddy pool. A bunch of kids gathered around because they’re like sharks, they can just smell the oncoming destruction.”

“And here’s Arthur after he got both of his front teeth knocked out by a soccer ball…” May holds up the album again to show them all.

“Arthur hauls ass down the driveway like he’s about to jump the Grand Canyon. He hits the first ramp just fine. In the split second he’s in the air it occurs to us—none of us are masters of physics but something isn’t right.”

“If you were masters of physics, maybe you would have noticed the distance was off,” Miles says, sticking his head into the living room. “About twenty minutes left on dinner.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Arthur says into his knees.

“Anyway.” Garrett takes a moment to get his laughter under control. “So Arthur’s tire hits the top of the second ramp and he goes flying. Face-plants right down into the lawn. He immediately jumps up like he’s about to yell “Ta-da!” and take a bow.

“The thing is it turns out Mom has been watching the whole thing from the living room window. She comes running out of the house in her nightgown and slippers, shouting about her baby boy.”

“We’re lucky no one called 911,” Arthur picks up his head, clearly resigned now that the story is running around in the open.

“Wait, we’re missing the best part,” May says. “Arthur, why were we all home when this happened?”

“You already said it was summer break.”

“In high school?” Eames asks.

“For them.” Arthur groans and shakes his head. “I was in college. And if you’re about to ask, I was stone cold sober at the time.”

“Just a few more minutes!” Elaine shouts from the kitchen. “Come set the table!”

May shows off one more picture of Arthur, the night he’d tried to dye his hair blond but only succeeded in turning it burnt orange, and then puts the album aside. Everyone hauls themselves from the living room, Arthur giving Garrett a joking shove, as they head for the food.

***

Arthur leans back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. He’s so full that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to move again.

“Who’s ready to tour the Christmas lights?” Miles asks.

Arthur groans, sliding lower in his chair. “Just go on without me.”

“It’s tradition, brother,” May says, pulling herself out of her own chair. “Come on, if you don’t snore, you can nap in the car and no one will notice.”

Arthur lets Eames pull him to his feet. His grip is a little too hard and their chests crash together. For a moment, Arthur is staring up into Eames’s eyes, their hands clasped, the heat of their skin burning through their clothes. There’s no mistletoe, no request by his family to see them kiss.

Arthur wishes there was. It would make this whole decision a bit easier.

“Are you coming?” May asks. Arthur pulls away hard, realizing in the long moments he’s wasted deliberating, his family have already been moving towards getting ready.

“Yeah,” Arthur replies, yanking his hand from Eames’s grasp. “We’re coming.”

Miles climbs straight into the driver’s seat. Elaine calls shotgun, leaving the rest of them to squabble amongst themselves on who will sit where. In the end, May and Josh end up in the backseat with Garrett, Arthur and Eames with Tara and slightly more space in the middle.

The van trundles out of the driveway and onto the road. It’s dark, a thick layer of clouds blocking out the moon and stars. Street lamps cast a steady glow in front of them. Strings of lights hang from eaves and wrap around trees and scatter across bushes.

Out of the scattering of lights rises a beacon. A single house, lines of white hanging from the roof, green and red outlining the windows, blue and white around every tree, and even a multi-colored string bordering the driveway. There’s a team of reindeer pulling a sleigh in the front lawn. The whole thing lights up the place better than a streetlight.

“I see the Carters are still enthusiastic,” Arthur says.

“They’ve set the whole thing to music,” Elaine replies. “Their grandson did it. It’s very impressive.”

“Mal did that last year,” Eames whispers to Arthur. “The whole thing was set to Piano Sonata No. 14.”

The car moves on, leaving the floodlight behind. Arthur finds himself watching Eames more than the Christmas lights. There isn’t much he hasn’t seen before, unlike the steady red, green, and white cast over Eames’s face. Around them, the others chat easily and point out their favorites.

“We should use that,” Eames says, pointing at a house that looks like it’s been built entirely out of white lights.

Arthur snorts. “The point is to be inconspicuous.”

“No imagination.” Eames leans over to kiss him on the cheek but Arthur pulls away at the last moment.

Tara squeals and everyone turns to look out her window. One yard has a dragon built of yellow and red lights, spewing flames into the night.

They’re almost through weaving the rest of the way through the blocks when flurries start to fall. “I think that’s our cue to go home” Miles says, turning around in someone’s driveway.

Arthur is relieved when he’s finally able to escape the confines of the car. The air is cold and crisp, delicate flakes of snow falling. He stares up at them, sticking his tongue out even though they’re too small to catch.

Eames laughs and Arthur looks over his shoulder, his breath catching in his throat. The man looks like an angel, lit with the soft white glow of their own Christmas lights. A grin stretches across his face.

For a moment, Arthur lets himself imagine that all of this is real. He covers the ground between them in two strides, grabs Eames’s face in his hands. They’re probably freezing but he doesn’t flinch away. Arthur pauses and kisses him.

It’s gentle and tentative, like they’re both afraid the other might disappear. Nothing like the desperation of their kisses before. Arthur reaches out with the tip of his tongue, tracing Eames’s bottom lip and suppressing a moan over the answering shudder.

A pair of wolf-whistles echo across the lawn. Arthur pulls away, laughing as he rests his forehead on Eames’s shoulder. He sobers up a moment later, realizing that he’d just ended what might be his last chance to kiss Eames. He’d brought the man out here on a desperate idea and a favor but this was outside their agreement. Outside of the boundaries he himself had set.

Arthur lets go. “We should probably get inside.”

“Okay.” Eames reaches out, trying to twine their fingers together. Arthur just walks away.

***

The rest of the evening drags on in a whole new form of torture. All Arthur can think about is how badly he wants to get Eames alone, to apologize for putting him in such a tough spot. Between coffee in the dining room and watching Tara and Garrett unwrap their presents, nothing seems like the right moment.

“I’m going to get more coffee,” Eames says, standing up as Tara fights to get through the packaging of her Captain America action figure. “Does anyone need anything?”

“We’re good” ripples through the room. Arthur waits until Eames has gone into the kitchen before he gets up to follow.

“I’m sorry for out there,” Arthur says, waving a hand in the direction of the front door. He can’t bring himself to say the kiss. “It won’t happen again.”

Eames fills up his coffee cup. “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course.” Arthur leans against the counter, getting the feeling this isn’t going to go in any of the many directions he’d considered. “It was a mistake.”

Eames steps around the corner, stopping directly in front of Arthur. They’re too close but Arthur can’t bring himself to move away. “A mistake.”

“We agreed no PDA and I broke—”

“We didn’t agree, _you_ said no PDA,” Eames cuts him off, shoving him hard against the counter. “Does this feel like a mistake?” He leans down into a kiss, tongue shoving unceremoniously into Arthur’s mouth.

This is more like what he’s used to—hard, fast, angry. Eames’s hands wrap around his hips, fingertips digging into his skin. Arthur holds onto the counter for dear life, letting himself be swept along.

“Take it upstairs, you two,” Garrett’s voice interrupts from behind them. “I have a very impressionable daughter.”

Eames’s laugh is strangled as he pulls out of the kiss. It’s surprisingly gentle as his hands slip from Arthur’s face and he leans their foreheads together.

“Fuck off, Garrett,” Arthur whispers as he tries to catch his breath.

“What do you say?” Eames asks, pulling away enough to see Arthur’s face. “Shall we take it upstairs?”

Arthur doesn’t have much time to do anything but nod before he’s being pulled toward the stairs. _It’s just sex_ , Arthur tells himself. _It doesn’t have to mean anything._

It wouldn’t be the first time. They could have this weekend and then they’d go their separate ways, just like always.

Eames closes the bedroom door behind them. Arthur pauses, waiting for a “We really fooled them” or “I bet they bought it” or just “Nice one.” Instead, Eames kisses him.

Arthur knows he’s in trouble the moment their lips touch. This one is tender, more like the kiss on the front lawn than the one downstairs in the kitchen. Eames’s fingertips press into his waist as he holds him in place.

“You can touch me,” Eames whispers, lips tracing the shell of Arthur’s ear. “I won’t break.”

Arthur brings his hands up from where they’ve been hanging to his sides. He starts with Eames’s shirt, fingers racing down the buttons, revealing miles of tanned skin and black ink.

There’s a new tattoo that he didn’t notice before, thick black lines forming the words “I Dream” just above his left hip. Artur traces them with his fingertips as Eames struggles to get him out of his waistcoat, button-up, and undershirt.

“Too many damn layers,” Eames hisses, finally managing to yank the undershirt over Arthur’s head.

They move back into a kiss, skin pressed against skin. Arthur is content to stay just like this, hands roving over backs and chests, tongues exploring mouths. Eames gets impatient, his hands shoving between their hips to work at Arthur’s belt. He whips it off and tosses it aside, free hand already working into Arthur’s pants.

Arthur breaks the kiss hard, groaning as Eames’s hand wraps around his cock. He reaches for his waistband and pushes down pants and boxers in one movement. Eames drops to his knees before Arthur can do the same for him. He takes Arthur’s cock down in one smooth movement, hands wrapping around his hips to keep him from jerking.

“Oh fuck, Eames,” Arthur gasps, hands fisting in Eames’s hair, tugging it free from the gell. He’d forgotten how good the man was at this. How could he have ever forgotten? He seems to remember exactly the spots to press his tongue, taking his time, moans sending vibrations up Arthur’s cock.

Eames pulls off with an obscene pop. “Don’t move,” he growls in a low voice of an order. He goes straight to his suitcase, digging around until he finds a slender tube of lube and a box of condoms.

Arthur swallows hard. Had Eames always planned on this holiday ending up here? He doesn’t realize he’s asked that out loud until he spots a grin on the man’s face. “I like to always be prepared.”

Eames takes him back into his mouth and Arthur can hear the pop of the lube. A moment later, a finger teases at his rim, cold and slick. Arthur’s fists clench in Eames’s hair as the finger slides inside.

“Easy, love,” Eames murmurs, licking lightly at the head. “I quite like my hair.”

Arthur groans in response, moving his hands to Eames’s shoulders instead. He looks down, fixing his eyes on the tendrils of black ink peeking between his fingers rather than his cock disappearing into Eames’s mouth.

It doesn’t help much. Arthur throws his head back instead. Eames’s fingers work in tandem with his mouth and it isn’t long before he’s sliding in a second. He crooks them, searching until Arthur’s fingernails bite into his shoulders.

“I’m coming,” he warns, punctuated with a moan.

Eames slides in a third finger as he takes Arthur into his throat. “Eames,” Arthur chokes out. His knees start to shake and the moment Eames pulls off he stumbles to the bed.

“I’ve never made you almost fall over before,” Eames says with a note of pride, licking his lips as he gets to his feet.

Arthur pushes himself up on the bed, spreading his legs and pushing his hips up. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“So demanding,” Eames teases, dropping his own pants to the floor. He crawls up onto the bed, sliding between Arthur’s legs.

Arthur wishes he’d thought to turn over first. This is too close, too intimate, with Eames staring down into his eyes and his body pinned beneath his weight.

“Remember not to make a sound,” Eames growls into his ear as he rolls on a condom and slicks himself up. “You don’t want to scar your family.”

“Way to kill the mood. Besides, you’re the loud one,” Arthur retorts, biting back a shout as Eames pushes his way inside.

“You were saying?” He moves slow, inch by inch, until he bottoms out.

“Come on, Eames.” Arthur bucks his hips up, trying to provoke Eames out of the slow pace he’s setting. “You said you were going to fuck me.”

“Maybe I want to take it slow,” Eames says, sliding his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, bracing himself on his elbows. It’s the complete opposite of what they’ve always had and Arthur doesn’t know how to deal with it. “God, look at you.”

Arthur closes his eyes, back arching up as Eames leans down and bites his neck. He scratches his nails down Eames’s back until the man lets go, his thrusts becoming stronger and less coordinated.

“Come on, Eames,” Arthur whispers, trying to reach up into a kiss but the angle is all wrong. “Come inside of me.”

Eames drops his forehead down onto his shoulder and shudders as he comes. Neither of them move as they catch their breath, too deeply entwined.

Finally Eames untangles himself from Arthur’s limbs and pulls out, heading to the bathroom without a word. Arthur stays where he is, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out why he feels like he just missed something.

Eames emerges from the bathroom and goes straight to his suitcase. “You wouldn’t mind if I—” He pulls out his poker chip.

Arthur shakes his head. The drive to check for reality wasn’t to be taken personally. He considers his own loaded die, tucked away in a pocket of his coat, but he doesn’t need it. He remembers every moment of how they ended up here.

***

Arthur wakes in the morning to someone whispering his name over and over. He opens his eyes to see Eames straddling his waist. The covers are between them but that’s it—Eames is naked.

“Your mom told me to tell you Garrett is leaving in half an hour,” Eames says, not looking in the least bit self-conscious. “So get up.”

“Please tell me you didn’t walk around the house like that” is all Arthur can think to say.

Eames sit up and shrugs. “What kind of boyfriend do you take me for?”

_Not_ _mine_ lingers on the tip of Arthur’s tongue but instead he replies, “How am I supposed to get up with you on top of me?”

Eames’s smile is full of mischief. “Not what I meant.”

“Oh no.” Arthur braces his hands against Eames’s chest just as he tries to lean down for a kiss. “We don’t have time.”

“Guess I’ll just have to try extra hard.” Eames’s hands wrap around his wrists and pin them above his head.

Exactly twenty minutes later, Arthur climbs out of bed with shaking knees. He pulls on the first clothes he finds and heads downstairs, leaving Eames still getting dressed.

Garrett is just bringing their suitcases out to the door, Tara hugging her grandparents goodbye. Arthur’s still waiting his turn when Eames bounds down the stairs.

Arthur pulls Garrett into a hug, patting him on the back. “Take care.”

“Always do.” Garrett moves out of the way and shakes hands with Eames. “It was good to meet you. I’m glad to see all of Arthur’s boyfriends aren’t imaginary.”

“Hey!” Arthur kneels down to hug Tara and ruffles her hair as he straightens back up. “None of my boyfriends were ever imaginary.”

“And how were we to know that?” Garrett grins. “Don’t be a stranger, all right? Tara’s birthday is in three months. You should come down.”

“Eames is invited too, of course,” Tara pipes up.

“Of course.” The loose promise burns in his throat. “I’ll do my best.”

“You know where to find me,” Garrett claps his hand down on Arthur’s shoulder, hugs his parents and sister, shakes hands with Josh, and then he’s gone.

“There’s coffee in the pot,” Miles says as they all stand frozen in the foyer. “But if you want breakfast, you’re on your own.”

Arthur wanders through to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee. He tries not to move gingerly as he settles onto a chair. Judging by Eames’s grin from across the counter, he didn’t succeed.

“You want anything for breakfast?” Eames asks, opening the fridge and surveying the contents casually.

Arthur holds up his cup.

“Pathetic.” Eames’s eyes light up and he pulls the leftover apple pie out. He dishes out a slice and digs in standing at the counter.

“I’m pathetic,” Arthur replies. “You’re the one eating pie for breakfast.”

“It’s apple. Fruit. Perfectly appropriate breakfast food.” Eames offers him a forkful. Arthur shakes his head. “Suit yourself.”

“Is that apple pie?” May asks, yawning as she joins them in the kitchen. “You’re a genius.”

“At least someone appreciates that.” Eames sticks his tongue out at Arthur and gets an eye-roll in response. “There’s a couple pieces left.”

“Hell yeah.” May gets the pie pan out of the fridge and forks out her own piece.

Arthur gulps down the last two swallows of his coffee and puts his cup in the sink. “I’ll leave the two of you to your questionable breakfast. I’m going to take a shower.”

Eames catches him on the elbow as he passes, planting a kiss on his lips. It tastes like cinnamon. “Sure you don’t want some questionable breakfast?”

Arthur licks his lips and slips out of Eames’s grip. “I’m sure.”

He spends way too much time in the shower, trying to remove the imprint of Eames’s touch from his skin. Last night—and this morning—had been a one time thing. That kiss in the kitchen as just a show for May.

Eames always devotes himself whole-heartedly to every one of his forgeries. This can’t be any different.

***

Arthur steps out of his bedroom, catching the sound of new voices. He races downstairs and follows them to the living room.

The first thing he notices is Eames sitting on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, holding baby Eli on his lap. The boy is bundled up in a blanket, asleep.

“Who’s that, daddy?” The words, coming from his niece Kate, are like a kick in the chest. Arthur forces his eyes away from Eames as he looks over the rest of his family.

Brian sits on the couch next to his wife Carol. Despite him and Garrett being twins, they look nothing alike. Brian looks younger, no gray threads in his black hair or wrinkles on his face. He’s heavier too, belly just hanging out over his belt. Carol is a redhead, her curls hanging thickly around her face. Her green dress drapes in folds down to her ankles. Kate looks more like her mother—same sharp eyes, red hair, slender build.

“That’s your Uncle Arthur,” Carol says gently, sending him an apologetic smile. “Don’t you remember? He gave you that lovely wooden doll last year.”

Kate nods solemnly. “Amanda.”

“That's right.” Carol runs a hand through her daughter’s hair. “How are you, Arthur?”

“I’m good.” Kate’s words echo in his head as his eyes fix on Eames and Eli.

“Would you like to hold him?” Eames asks, his voice just above a whisper to avoid waking the baby.

Arthur shakes his head, heart threatening to jump out of his chest. “In a minute. I forgot something upstairs. I’ll be right back.” He turns on his heel and bolts for the stairs. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the solitude of his old room.

He’d forgotten how hard it sometimes was to come home. To be invited to birthday parties, knowing that he’d probably end up wandering around someone else’s head instead. To have his own niece not recognize him at all. To not promise to keep in touch because everyone knew he wouldn’t.

The door creaks as it opens and shuts again. Arthur doesn’t look up.

“It’s hard for you,” Eames says, his voice gentle. “Managing our work and your family.”

Arthur picks up his head and nods. “That’s why I chose international business consultant as a cover. It’s right there in the name. ‘I know it’s mother’s birthday but I’m in Prague. I know it’s Easter but I’m in Shanghai. Sorry I didn’t answer your happy birthday call two weeks ago, I’ve been in Tokyo.’ After that, they don’t ask too many questions.”

Eames sits down on the bed, moving slowly as he puts an arm around Arthur like he’s not sure the comforting touch is welcome. “Do you ever regret it?”

“No.” Arthur can’t lie, not with Eames looking at him like he can see right into his heart. “Sometimes. I risk enough just coming home for this. It’s for their own protection, you know that.”

Eames shakes his head. “I don’t have anything to protect. This business…it’s not kind on people with ties.”

“I know.” Arthur sighs, getting to his feet. “Let’s get back downstairs.”

***

Christmas afternoon is spent scattered across the living room. A movie plays on the TV but no one pays it any mind. They’re too busy talking; after all, there’s a year to catch up on. Arthur makes up a few stories about his business, staying as far away from his actual work as possible. Eames throws in some stories about the law office he pretends to work at, until everyone’s laughing too hard to breathe.

In another life, this could be real. A life without danger, without the dream industry. A life where Eames really was his boyfriend.

Arthur’s own laughter freezes in his throat. He feels like he’s in a dream and his hand reaches for his loaded die before he remembers it’s still upstairs. Around him, the laughter continues to echo, his family hanging onto every word of Eames’s story about a rooster loose in the office.

Eames glances over his shoulder and catches Arthur’s eye. His smile stutters for a moment and then he reaches across to place a hand on his knee.

Arthur forces a laugh out of his throat as he reaches back with his mind, recounting every moment of how he ended up here, at his parents’ house, this moment in the living room.

_Not a dream. Not a dream._

Arthur smiles reassuringly back at Eames until he pulls his hand away.

The sun is disappearing, leaving most of the light to come from the Christmas tree, by the time Elaine gets up to make dinner. She nods to Arthur and motions for him to follow her. “Why don’t you come help me?”

“Okay.” Arthur heads for the kitchen. There’s a ham to get into the oven and potatoes to slice and green beans to prepare.

“Eames is a great guy,” Elaine says as the two of them are standing side-by-side at the counter, peeling potatoes.

“Yeah.” Arthur tries not to think of all the times the two of them have been at each other’s throats. “He really is.”

“I know that you haven’t really approved of me trying to introduce you to guys,” she continues. “I just…you’re always so busy with work and I wanted you to be happy. I was afraid that if I couldn’t get you to slow down while you’re here at home, you never would on your own.”

“I’ve been doing fine, Mom.” Arthur’s voice is gentle and he slows his hands to keep from showing that they’re shaking.

“How was I to know that?” She pushes the back of her hand over her cheek and Arthur realizes with a surge of guilt that she’s crying. “You’ve never brought anyone home before.”

Arthur thinks back over the past decade. His involvement in an illegal and dangerous world. His boyfriends across the world, most of whom were also involved in dream espionage. He tries to picture any of them in this house, making his family laugh, holding his nephew, kissing him outside in the snow. He can’t do it.

His life at Christmas was completely separate from his life the rest of the year. It was the only time he allows himself to relax and enjoy that fact that he—unlike most people he knew—still had a family.

“I really just wanted to say,” his mother goes on, dragging Arthur out of his thoughts, “that you’ve looked so happy with Eames these past few days. I know it’s new and you probably don’t like me saying this, but I think he’s good for you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Arthur’s stomach flips over. “Try not to start planning my wedding just yet, okay?”

She laughs and he’s glad to see that the tears are gone. A moment later, May joins them in the kitchen and it isn’t long before they’re finishing up with the preparations and starting on the waiting.

“There you are, darling,” Eames says, walking into the kitchen and planting a kiss on Arthur’s lips. “Your brother was just telling me the best story about the time you had too much wine and tried to flirt with Carol.”

“He was just so terrible at it,” Brian says, laughing as he leans against the wall. “I was laughing too hard to be mad.”

Arthur groans and drops his forehead onto the counter. If he’d known there really would be so many embarrassing stories, he never would have brought anyone home.

“I’m glad to see you’ve improved,” Eames says, dodging away from Arthur’s slap on the shoulder. “At least where men are concerned.”

“You’re all terrible,” Arthur replies, deadpan. “I’m going to eat this whole meal myself. You can all fend for yourselves.”

“You are too cruel.” Eames slips away and surveys the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do?”

Elaine shoves a handful of forks into his hands. The knives she gives to Brian. “You can put those on the table.”

The meal is relatively quiet. Arthur lets himself get lost in the moment again, mostly listening to May talking about her wedding with Carol.

“Would you like me to hold him?” Arthur asks, nodding to baby Eli asleep in his mother’s arms.

“Would you?” Carol sighs with relief and hands him over, finally able to reach her plate easily. Arthur’s already finished so he leans back in his chair and stares down at the baby. He hopes the sight isn’t going to jog questions of “So when are you going to start a family?” now that he’s actually brought someone home.

“He likes you,” Eames says, leaning over the draw the blanket tighter around Eli’s little feet.

Arthur shrugs, gently so not to risk disturbing him. “He’s asleep.”

“I can still tell.” Eames sits back up and polishes off his second helping of potatoes. “Do you think babies dream?”

Arthur gives him a sharp look. “Don’t even think about it?”

“I wasn’t!” Eames raises his hands up in defense. “I’m just curious.”

After dinner, those who didn’t help with the cooking get press-ganged into washing up. Arthur hands Eli over to his mother and heads to the living room, collapsing into the recliner. A nap seems like a perfectly valid option at the moment.

Arthur doesn’t realize he’s actually fallen asleep until he wakes up to something rough tickling his nose and the entire household staring down at him.

“He wakes!” Eames says and Arthur looks down his nose at the mistletoe still hanging in his face. “I told you I wouldn’t have to kiss him.”

“Are you sure?” Kate stretches to peer over the arm of the chair.

Arthur sits up and pushes the mistletoe away. “I’m not dying, you know. You don’t all have to stare at me.”

The others start to back off, finding seats around the living room. “Look, honey,” Eames exclaims, “I found the mistletoe stuck to the back of a wreath.”

“Lovely.” Arthur yawns and stretches until his back pops. “I didn’t know we had any.”

“I forgot all about it,” Elaine says, dropping onto the couch with a mug of tea wrapped in her hands. “I believe tradition still stands.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and leans forward. Eames waits a few moments, eyebrow raised, and then leans down into a kiss. It’s over too quickly and Arthur digs his fingers into the cushion to keep from pulling Eames back down again.

“There,” Arthur says, “you finally got your mistletoe kiss.”

Eames grins. “I’ll find somewhere to hang this.”

“Who’s ready for presents?” May asks once everyone is settled down in the living room once more. Kate crawls eagerly across the floor and starts to hand them out. There’s no rhyme or reason to opening them, just the sounds of paper tearing and boxes opening.

Arthur pulls out a hand-knit blue sweater from his mother, a leather travel case his father, a six-month subscription to Netflix from May (”So you can keep up on your pop culture as you’re flying around the world”), paperback _Game of Thrones_ from Garrett and one pound of his favorite chocolate truffles and a gift card to Planet Fitness from Brian.

When he’s finished, there’s still one left—a small box in silvery paper. The tag reads “From Eames to Arthur.”

“But dear,” Arthur says, looking at where Eames hasn’t even started to unwrap the two gifts in his lap, “I thought we exchanged all our gifts before we came?”

Eames shrug. “I just couldn’t resist.”

Arthur doesn’t really have any other choice but to open it. He glances to where his mother is fawning over the fleece blanket he bought her and then tears into the paper.

It’s a watch. The face is large and silver, the band black leather. Embossed on the inside of the leather is _A wish your heart makes_.

“Since you lost your last one. Now you’ll always be able to keep time,” Eames murmurs, not mentioning that he’d smashed Arthur’s last watch.

Arthur wraps the band around his wrist and stares at the ticking seconds for a moment. Finally, he forces himself to look up. “Thank you.”

“Eames,” Elaine interrupts, not realizing her son’s world is simultaneously falling apart and coming together. “Aren’t you going to open your presents?”

Eames jumps like he’d forgotten they were there. “Yes, of course.” He tears through the paper without hesitation, revealing a pair of simple silver cuff links and the entire extended edition trilogy of _The Lord of the Rings_.

“How did you know?” Eames asks, looking down at the set with awe.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I told them. You’re the one always quoting Aragorn’s big speech during every—” He stutters to a stop, narrowly avoiding saying _during every job_ “—every big case.”

Eames’s smile is smaller than usual but it seems more genuine that way. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome,” Elaine replies.

***

Once the kids are upstairs asleep, Brian digs out the board games. Eames turns out to be incredible at both charades and pictionary, although Arthur isn’t sure why he’s surprised by either.

It’s three in the morning by the time the games come to an end. Brian and Carol lay claim to May’s bedroom with the kids. Arthur helps Josh pull out the couch so he and May have some place to crash.

Arthur has just enough energy to strip to his boxers and crawl beneath the covers. “You wanna?” Eames asks, his voice a bit groggy.

“Sleep,” Arthur mumbles back, unable to open his eyes again as the other side of the bed sinks under Eames’s weight. He’s awake just long to feel a warm body snuggle up to his back.

Morning arrives far too quickly in the form of the sun shining directly into Arthur’s eyes. He groans and rolls over, shoving his face into Eames’s chest.

He wakes again some time later, painfully aware of the fact that he’s hard and pressed against Eames’s thigh. The other man appears to still be asleep.

Arthur considers the possibility of moving away, getting out of bed and taking care of things in the shower. It’s too late for that when Eames’s eyes flutter open.

“When do we leave?” Eames asks, his voice a bit raspy.

“Whenever we want.” Arthur leans down and draws Eames’s bottom lip between his teeth. If this is the last chance he’s ever going to get, then he’s going to make the most of it.

The kiss is long and leisurely, the both of them still half-asleep. Fire shoots through Arthur’s veins, waking him up completely, when Eames ruts against his thigh. For a second, he feels like a teenager again, like the two of them are going to come in minutes just rubbing against each other.

Eames’s legs lock around his waist and he flips them both over. The air rushes out of Arthur’s lungs as he lands on his back. “I was going to fuck you,” Arthur groans as Eames nips his way down his neck.

“You still can,” Eames growls.

Arthur shivers, maneuvering himself and Eames out of their boxers as quickly as he can. They kiss, deep and messy, before Eames pulls away to reach for the lube on the side table. Arthur tries to take it but Eames ignores him in favor of squeezing it out on his own fingers.

Eames reaches down, sliding a finger inside himself without hesitation. Arthur watches, transfixed, unable to bring his hands up from where they rest at his sides. This beautiful man is his, even if it’s only for the next few hours.

Arthur suddenly wishes that they had a PASIV handy. They could stretch these few hours into days, months, years even in the depths of each other’s dreams. No matter how deep they went, though, they could never go so far as to forget it wasn’t real.

Eames throws his head back, groaning as he pushes a second finger alongside the first. His thrusts are deep and rough, working faster than Arthur would normally dare.

“We have time,” Arthur says, running his hand over Eames’s thigh.

“Don’t want to wait.” Eames gasps for breath as he crooks his fingers. His cock drips precum onto Arthur’s stomach. Arthur reaches up, catching it on his fingers and using it to slick up his hand. Then he takes Eames’s length, stroking slowly, enough to tease but not enough to get him off.

Eames shoves in three fingers and lets out a whine. “Please, Arthur,” he hisses.

Arthur obliges, tightening his grip and working just a bit faster. Eames bites down on his lower lip and comes. His thighs shake as he positions himself over Arthur’s cock and guides himself down.

“Oh God, Eames,” Arthur whispers, hands wrapping around Eames’s hips. His fingers press bruises into the paler skin.

In this position, there isn’t much he can do but lay back and let Eames stay in control. Not that Arthur minds, the view is fantastic. Eames’s thighs flex as he pushes himself up and down, sweat trailing over his chest, hair hanging damp over his closed, lips parted.

Eames slams down and Arthur bites back a moan as he comes. His hands slide back to the bed as he pants for breath.

It’s over. Soon they’ll have to get up and head home. Arthur reaches to pull Eames down, figuring they can get a few minutes of cuddling in first, but he’s already sliding off the bed.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Eames says without looking over. Arthur watches him gather up some clothes and shut himself away in the bathroom without a word.

Arthur makes it to sixty seconds according to his new watch before he can’t take being in bed alone anymore. He doesn’t want to go downstairs, not without a good shower and shave, so he pulls open his wardrobe and starts packing all his stuff.

His die falls out of a pocket and bounces across the floor. Arthur leans over, notes the four, and shoves it into the jeans he’ll wear today.

He’s just finishing up when the bathroom door opens. Eames steps out, looking perfectly put-together in a black button-up and a wide grin. He steps across the floor like he’s going to drag Arthur into a kiss but seems to think better of it.

“I need a shower,” Arhtur says, quickly gathering up his clothes and brushing past Eames towards the bathroom. He waits for a hand to catch him. It doesn’t. “If you’re ready, we’ll leave right after breakfast.”

Eames doesn’t answer. Arthur shuts the bathroom door behind him and leans his forehead against the frame for a moment.

***

There’s an impressive spread of hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, toast, and leftover ham waiting for them downstairs. May and Josh sit at the counter, Arthur’s parents are nowhere to be seen.

“Brian left earlier,” May tells Arthur as he dishes himself out a plate. “He told me to tell you goodbye and thanks for the gifts.”

Arthur frowns but can’t bring himself to regret that he didn’t get up early enough to say his own farewell. “We’ll be leaving as soon as we’re done eating.”

“Our flight isn’t until this afternoon.” May looks towards Eames, a strange glint in her eye. “I must say, Eames, it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

“Your sound surprised,” Eames replies, layering on the charm.

May shrugs. “I suppose I thought with my big brother living in DC he’d be dating all stuffy businessmen and lying politicians.”

Arthur’s fork clatters to his plate, guilt sweeping in like a tidal wave. Eames swallows hard, glancing over at him. “I’m not sure those are quite his type.”

“Well just know it’s been fun,” May says. “You’re more than welcome to come to our wedding.”

“Of course,” Josh puts in.

“I’d be honored. I don’t believe I heard, how long have you been engaged?”

May happily leaps onto the subject of her own relationship. Arthur picks up his fork again, watching Eames relax into the more familiar territory of listening to other people talk about themselves.

After breakfast, Arthur lugs their bags out to the car and endures the goodbyes as best he can. There’s hugs and kisses and “It was nice to meet you” and promises to stay in contact whenever he’s in the States.

At long last, Arthur and Eames are climbing into the car and heading home.

“Your family is nice,” Eames says as they’re moving out of the neighborhood. A couple people are already out beginning the process of removing all the Christmas decorations.

“Yeah,” Arthur replies, smiling at the steering wheel, “they are.”

Eames falls asleep again just as they’re heading out of Virginia Beach. Arthur rolls his eyes but does his best not to wake him, enjoying the chance not to have to worry about the inevitable awkward conversations to come.

Unfortunately, it also means Arthur has a lot of time alone with his thoughts. He thinks about kissing Eames in the snow, how angry he’d been when he tried to apologize and called it a mistake. About how _easy_ it all seemed for them to fall into the role of being together.

In their real lives, it had never been that easy. The jobs were dangerous and they often had to scatter and leave each other behind for safety’s sake. It was one thing to hook up when they had the chance, it was quite another to maintain any semblance of a relationship.

Eames doesn’t stay asleep long, waking as they’re cruising along the highway. He stretches the kinks out of his back after being cramped into the seat. Almost immediately he announces Arthur’s choice in radio station “dull” and turns his attention toward scanning through the choices.

“No,” Arthur vetoes when he pauses on heavy metal.

“We can’t all enjoy only Mozart,” Eames replies and continues looking. He lands on a classic rock station that they both deem acceptable and turns up the volume. Arthur is glad for the barrier of noise between them.

Conversation starts and stops with awkward bumps. Arthur talks about some of the sights, places his family had stayed as a kid. Eames directs him to avoid a couple of cities that would be best if he didn’t show his face. They’re only about an hour out of DC when Arthur says, “I really appreciated this. I hope you heard enough embarrassing stories to make it worth it.”

“Arthur…” Eames shifts in his seat, silent for so long that Arthur gets the feeling he’s not going to reply at all.

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur whispers. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

“Do you really think that I did all of this for the stories?”

Arthur doesn’t know what to say. They don’t speak again until they’re climbing out of the car at Arthur’s place. He expects Eames to just grab his suitcase and disappear into the afternoon, but instead the two of them make their way upstairs.

“I’ll make sure to put all the blame for our break-up on me,” Arthur says, shutting his front door behind them and dropping his suitcase on the floor. “I’m just away too much on business or something.”

“Arthur, for a man who makes a living researching others and running point around their subconscious, you can be incredibly thick.” Eames stands in the middle of his living room, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Arthur turns around. “If you have something to say to me, just say it.”

“What if we didn’t break up?” Eames’s tone is casual, like he’s asking for Arthur to call him a cab rather than prolong their fake relationship. He steps closer, rubbing his poker chip between two fingers without looking at it. “Come on, Arthur, you can’t really be that oblivious.”

Arthur stumbles backwards, needing to get away from whatever it is dancing in Eames’s eyes. “I think you’ve gone native.”

Eames turns red at that, his fists clenching at his sides. “You know me better than that. I would never lose myself, especially not in reality.” He flips the chip into the air and lets it land on the floor.

“But you’ve never…we’ve never…” Arthur’s brain leaves him scrambling for words.

Eames frowns. “Did you really forget Buenos Aires so easily?”

“That was a year ago, Eames.” Of course Arthur remembers. The mark was a CEO embezzling money from his own company. Arthur and Eames had hooked up while they were making preparations, as they had several times before, but this time things were different somehow. He remembers him and Eames tangled up beneath the sheets of a seedy motel room, whispered promises that once the job was done they would find time for dinner, that they wouldn’t lose touch once they parted and wait to run into each other on another job.

He also remembers the unexpected level of mental security, being shot in the throat and waking up in the same hotel room. The CEO’s real life security showing up, the bullet ripping through his thigh. Rolling his die over and over again, getting a four every time and wishing he wouldn’t. Hoping and praying that Eames and the rest of their team had made it out.

“I promised you more than a night,” Eames says. “It didn’t matter that the job went south, that’s a risk we take every time we accept an offer.”

“If I remember right, you were supposed to call.” Arthur reaches a hand down to where his thigh is throbbing.

Eames releases the tension in his muscles. “ _You_ were supposed to call.”

“I was in the hospital!” Arthur closes his eyes against the memory of lying in a hospital bed for days, answering to a fake name, sneaking a night nurse cash in exchange for descriptions of foreign John Does.

“I had to flee to Mumbai.” Eames shakes his head. “You didn’t bring it up when we met for that job in the Hamptons.”

“It was six months later,” Arthur whispers. “I wasn’t even sure you remembered, let alone that the offer still stood. I thought you’d realized that this business is hard on people with ties.”

Eames growls at him throwing his own words back between them. “We both fucked up, didn’t we?”

“What makes you think this time would be any better?” Arthur challenges. “We both run around the world chasing jobs, only meeting up when we happen to run into each other. What kind of relationship is that?”

“It’s _ours_ ,” Eames whispers, crossing the floor in two strides and fisting his hands in Arthur’s shirt. He pauses, then, waiting for Arthur to close the gap between them.

He does, kissing Eames as desperately as if he needs it to breathe. When they break apart Eames says, “Come out to dinner with me.”

Arthur smiles and lets himself hope that this might be the start of something. “I know the perfect place around the corner.”


End file.
